The Dragons Revenge
by ApertureMan
Summary: Having almost brought an end to the Targaryen Dynasty, Rhaegar is cast aside by his family. Downtrodden and Forgotten, the crown prince has been abandoned by all those he loved save for one: his son, Jaehaerys Targaryen, second of his name. Now, Jaehaerys seeks vengeance in Kings Landing on those who wronged his father, and the Dragons Revenge comes quickly and without mercy.
1. Chapter 1

**The Dragon's Revenge**

 **Chapter 1**

The air stank of human waste and unwashed bodies. Moving through the thick, flowing crowds of flea bottom was a tedious, tiresome task. The giant men who walked these alleys towered over all others, their lumbering movements cutting a swathe through the bodies, smaller men following closely in their wake. The elderly and the weak were jostled about, pushed too and fro as the able-bodied moved with haste: that is, as fast as you could go with the mass congestion that overflowed the narrow cobbled roads.

Jaehaerys Targaryen, second of his name and rightful heir to the iron throne, knew the ins and outs what was referred to as "kings landings arse-hole". For the past two months he had lived amongst the filth, memorizing the routes that each street vendor took, commiting the guards rotations to heart as he watched them from the slanted roofs above. Each day his boredom reached a fever pitch, and each day he reminded himself of why he was here. After all, he had only to look up to see the Red Keep, knowing that he was closer now than ever before to avenging the fate his father had suffered. So Jaehaerys continued on in this mundane state of existence, trying his best to become a familiar face in the countless pubs that littered the lower city, all of them in various states of extreme disrepair.

The air shimmered in the intense heat, the sun shining directly overhead. Jon pulled the cowl of his cloak lower on his face, beads of sweat forming on his brow. Scanning the crowd in front of him, his eyes darted to and fro, searching for his Targets. Every two weeks, a senior officer of the city watch would accompany the standard patrol down Pisswater Bend. The time of the patrols always seemed to vary; the Gold Cloaks had grown soft under their current leadership. Jon knew that after his father took back the crown, late patrols would never pass unpunished. _Just one more reason that I'm here_ , he reminded himself.

The time passed slowly, the heat giving way to the cool evening breeze that washed over the city. The sun set a blood red, the light glinting off of golden armor as the men of the City Watch rounded the corner towards flea bottom. Jaehaerys counted five of them including their leader: light pickings for the would-be Crown Prince. As quiet as a shadow and as quick as lightning, the Targaryen lordling slipped off of his perch and into the bustling mass below.

Pushing and shouldering his way towards the guards, his right hand gripped the hilt of his bastard sword. People shouted curses at him as he shoved them aside, his violet glare set firmly on the Gold Cloaks in front of him. They didn't see him until they stood a few meters away; the man at the front of the group taking noticing his raised hood and his aggressive stance and called out to him.

"Out of tha way wit you," he snarled, his yellowed teeth and purplish gums on display for all to see. Jaehaerys didn't move.

"Get out of the fuckin way or we'll gut you like a fish, boy," another yelled, his pudgy hand reaching for the sword on that hung loosely on his hip. Jaehaerys didn't move.

"Right then," the first one said and started towards cloaked figure in front of him. He never saw Jaehaerys's hand wrapped around the hilt of his sword, and he couldn't react to the blow that lashed out at him, the Valyrian steel moving like lightning as the blade punched a hole through his chestplate. Blood oozing from the wound, he was dead before his body hit the ground.

The crowds all around them stopped, and a silence fell over the spectators as Jaehaerys began to slowly walk towards the remaining gold cloaks. With yells of fear and anger, two more of them ran to meet him: Jae's sword flicked out, and two more bodies fell to the ground, their thick blood coating the edge of the Targaryens blade. The Officer that had accompanied the patrol growled and drew his sword, he and the remaining City Watchman holding their ground, their aggressor stalking ever closer. Jaehaerys reached the the Watchman first, his first strike meeting his opponents sword and his second slashing across his neck. The Gold Cloak went down, blood spraying from his severed arteries. The Officer watched as his compatriot fell, his sword lowering slightly as he stared at his fallen comrade in horror. Jaehaerys was on him in a flash, his blade swinging in a deadly arc that shore through the Goldcloaks armor above his knee, severing the lower part of his leg. Screaming in pain, the Officer Collapsed, clutching at the stump where his leg used to be. Jaehaerys kneeled next to the man, his eyes devoid of any emotion.

"Listen to me," he said, his voice cold, "you don't have long left if your leg isn't cauterized soon. I need information regarding the whereabouts of Ser Jorah Mormont." If the Gold Cloak heard him, he didnt respond. A pathetic whimper of pain emitted from his mouth, his eyes bulging in agony as his blood pooled around him. Sighing, Jaehaerys unsheathed the dagger he wore on his hip and drove it into the man's side, the blade peircing his intestines. The Officer let loose another blood curdling scream as Jae pulled out his blade out. "Now will you listen," he asked, his voice laced with impatience.

Dimly, the man below him seemed to realize what was being asked of him and spat up into Jaehaerys's face, his eyes filled with hate, "Burn in-".

His sentence was cut short by the valyrian steel blade that pierced his neck, the remaining light in his eyes vanishing. Placing one foot on his fallen enemies chest, the Targaryen slid his sword out of the man's throat, and turned to the mob.

"Shows over," he said, wiping the blood off his sword. Those who had stopped to watch hurriedly turned and continued with whatever it was that they had been doing. Jon knew he had to move on quickly; someone was bound to have alerted the rest of the City Watch as to what had transpired here, and there were no doubt more men on the way.

Jaehaerys slipped into the crowd.

…

The cold water ran in rivulets down his face as he stood in front of a mirror, scooping the cold liquid out of the basin in front of him. He scrubbed the blood from his hands and arms, wiping away the odd spot on his neck and face. Jaehaerys caught a glimpse of himself in the dirty looking glass infront of him as he moved to dry himself: his dyed black hair and dark purple eyes gave no indication as to who he really was. He had grown up being told that he looked like a mirror image of his father, Rhaegar, but Jae knew that you had to be looking for the similarities in order to find them: the people in flea bottom weren't interested in looking. Pushing away his thoughts, Jae walked to the window on the opposite wall, the inn he was staying in providing a perfect view of the Red Keep. It helped Jae sleep at night and wake up each morning: looking up towards the person who was the cause of all the suffering he had endured motivated him to no end.

 _One day,_ he swore, _I will have my revenge._

One day, he knew, he would kill Daenerys Targaryen, and restore the rightful ruler to the throne.

That day grew ever closer.

* * *

I hope you everyone enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. I know it probably isn't a smart idea to try and juggle two somewhat similar stories at the same time, but its an endeavor I'm going to attempt. The next chapter that I will be publishing will be chapter 8 of Love is the Death of Duty, followed by the second chapter of this fic. LitDoD only has about six more chapters left in it: from the very beginning I knew it wouldn't exceed 15 chapter, but 14 looks a lot more likely now. Anyways, thank you for the favorite, follow and reviews!

Phsyconic


	2. Chapter 2

**The Dragon's Revenge**

 **Chapter 2**

The Red Man came to him again in his sleep. Jaehaerys sat in a brilliant field of white that stretched out for eons on every side. There was no sun nor moon in the sky: there was no weather, no land, no water. Only a blinding paleness that filled the vast expanses of his dreamscape. The Red Man approached Jae like he did every time, his arms pressed into the silky, loose sleeves of his satin robe. The man was thin and wiry, his face shrouded in the shadow case by his hood. The red robe itself was the color of the purest fire, decorated ornately by the finest stitching work in brilliant oranges and yellows. The man took his time approaching: Jae always saw him coming as there was nothing to disguise his approach. The Red Man began visiting Jaehaerys for as long as he could remember, and a night seldom past where the two did not converse. The Man stopped now in front of the young Targaryen, and stared down at him.

It had been building up for so long now, pressure mounting within him like fire within a dragon. The heat was overpowering, washing through his body, rolling off of Jae like waves. The white around him began to smolder and smoke. The man in red loomed over him, and from the depths of his hood, two brilliant red eyes stared down at Jae. The Dragon Prince looked down at his arms, the runes that covered them glowing the color of molten earth. The Dream Runes had begun appearing on his body two years ago: now, they riddled his arms, his neck, his chest. Intricate, arcane symbols that glowed with intense heat whenever the Red Man drew near. Jae didn't understand them, and despite the extensive research he had done on them during his time in Essos, he had only been able to decipher one of the symbols: the long one, which ran from the top of his waist to the back of his neck. _Fire_. Trying to find the answers to the what dream runes were was difficult: when Jae woke, his skin was always barren of any signs of the symbols. The Red Man spoke.

" _Perzys_."

His voice was raspy and thin, yet it surrounded Jaehaerys, echoing around him as if born on an unseen wind. The Symbol on his back burned so hot, Jae felt as though he would combust, yet there was no pain: only heat. Jae looked up at the Red Man, searching the depths of his cowl: his violet eyes met the Man's red ones, and they held each other's gaze for a moment. " _What are you doing to me_ ," Jae tried to say, yet his voice failed him. The words echoed around in his mind as the Red Man turned away, and began to shuffle away into towards that blinding horizon.

….

Jae woke with a start, cold sweat covering his body. Rolling out of his bed, Jae walked to the basin of water, shivering slightly as a wisp of a breeze rolled in through his cracked window. He cupped some water and brought it too his face, driving away the sleepiness that still lingered in his head, falling heavy on his eyelids. It was early in the morning, Jae deduced from the pale light that had begun to gently illuminate his room, seeping in through the window. He stood there a moment, looking at himself in the mirror. The Red Man was a source of constant annoyance for the Young Prince. Jae prided himself on his thirst for knowledge, yet the man's identity and the meaning behind the arcane symbols continued to elude him, much to his chagrin. Jae walked to the window, pulled the curtains aside, and opened the shutters. Kings Landing still slept: the streets were barren, save for a few youths who snuck from shadow to shadow, full of ill intent. The Red Keep loomed large over the rest of the city, its pink stone walls glowing the color of blood in the morning light.

Kinslaying was one of the greatest sins a man could commit in Westeros, yet Daenerys Targaryen was no relative of his. His aunt had driven his father out of Kings Landing, stealing his bannermen and rallying them to her cause. Now, her tyranny and insanity had reached new heights: Jae had hear whispers of how she burned men alive for amusement, how she tortured children to keep her from being bored. Kinslaying was one of the greatest sins a man could commit in westeros: yet Jae cared very little for the opinions of the sheep. He was a Dragon, and Dragons cared very little for what others thought of them.

Jaehaerys turned from the window, and walked to the dresser. He pulled a roughspun cloak over a thin undershirt, choosing a pair of trousers woven from the same material. Pulling his black hair back from his face, he tied it in a tight knot behind his head with a piece of black yarn. Pulling the cowl of his hood over his face, he turned to look at himself in the mirror. _Inconspicuous as always_. He turned to his bed, and picked up his sword that was resting at its foot. Jae held the leather scabbard in his hand, admiring the intricate metal work. Two twin dragon curled their way down the handle, their heads resting against one another at the base of the hilt, their eyes make of delicate rubies and amethysts. It had been a parting gift from Rhaegar not even three months ago: a freshly forged Valyrian blade for Jaehaerys's eighteenth name day.

" _Every famous blade should have a name_ ," _Rhaegar said, a sad smile etched into the deep lines of his face. Jae unsheathed the sword, holding it up to the light. The blade glinted and seemed to shimmer in the fading sun. "Redeemer," Jae said_. That was why he was in this accursed city after all: to redeem his father's honour, and bestow order to the seven kingdoms. Redeemer was a fine blade, finer than Jae thought he deserved. Jae buckled his sword to his side, fastening the blade to him by the scabbard, and wrapped his cloak closely around himself. He looked into the mirror one last time, and saw a disheveled commoner, no trace of the Valyrian sword he carried evident. He turned to the window and slipped away into the morning light.

….

The vast expanse of white stretched out around her on all sides. Daenerys sat in the middle of it, unable to rise, unable to speak. Her eyes flitted around her nervously, drinking in her surroundings. If this was a dream, it was a visceral one: Dany could feel the heat of an absent sun kissing her skin from every direction. There was no breeze, no water, and no land. It seemed to her that she was floating or falling, suspended in limbo above and below _something_. The sounds of footsteps dimly reached her ears. Turning, Dany saw a black speck on the horizon, slowly coming towards her. The footsteps of the person approaching were as clear as if they were right on top of her, yet Daenerys had a difficult time making out any of their features, squinting her eyes in an attempt to better make out their characteristics.

The person approaching her was a young man, his silver hair pulled back into a tight knot behind his head. He was dressed in a fine leather tunic, a silver brooch depicting the heads of both a dragon and a wolf fastened near his left shoulder. His undershirt was rolled back to his elbows, and his forearms were covered with strange black tattoos. They seemed to glow orange as he approached, she noted, and Dany saw a hint of further markings peeking out of the neckline of his shirt. At his hip swung a Valyrian steel sword, and on his back billowed a cloak of black and red, caught by some unseen wind. His expression was one of steely determination, his comely face bearing a striking resemblance to one that she had not seen in years.

She could see Rhaegar's nose and his high cheekbones, yet this man's eyes were a far darker hue of purple than those of her brothers. She choked back a sob, yet no sound escaped her lips. _How long had it been_ , she thought. She remembered how her brother had left: she remembered how his sword had cut through her fathers neck, how the blood had stained the marble floor of the royal apartments. She remembered Viserys lashing out, trying to stop Rhaegar: she remembered how cold his hands had been when she had reached his body, the gash in his stomach still slick with blood. She could perfectly recall how Rhaegar had stood over her, a look of anguish in his eyes, his sword dripping red.

Rhaegar's son stopped in front of her; _surely_ that was who this boy was. He looked to be about the same age as her, the beginnings of a silver beard sprouting from his angular jawline. " _Who are you"_ , she tried to say, but found that her voice had abandoned her. The sound of a second pair of footsteps caught her attention. The man approaching her was dressed all in red, his face completely shadowed by the cowl of his cloak. Tall and wiry, the man moved smoothly across the space. As he drew closer and closer, Dany could make out the details of his robe. It was ornately decorated with orange and yellow thread that intricately crawled up his the sides, his arms tucked together in his sleeves.

He stopped a few paces from Dany and Rhaegar's son, and seemed to stare intently at them, the black depths of his hood seemingly drawing Dany in. When he spoke, his voice echoed faintly around her, thin and and soft yet full of power.

" _Perzys_."

….

Daenerys woke, covered in a sheet of sweat. The morning breeze that wafted through the windows of her room in the Royal Apartments was cool, and Dany shivered slightly as she rose, wrapping her sheer nightgown closely around her petite form. Walking to the window, she stood there for a moment, listening to the sound of the waves and smelling the salt of the sea, before closing the shutters and drawing back the curtains. She went back to her bed, seeking whatever fleeting moments of sleep she could get before her long day began.

….

The sun was high over head as Daenerys walked into the throne room to meet with the court for the day, and deal with matters of the state. Ser Barristan Selmy and Ser Alliser Thorne stood at attention at the foot of the steps atop which sat the Iron Throne. Their armor shone in light that permeated the stained windows of the great hall, their brilliant white cloaks shining brightly. Dany smiled at them as she ascended the steps to her seat, before settling down onto the uncomfortable old seat, preparing herself for the day ahead.

"You may send the first one in," she said, her singsong voice carrying across the great space. The two gold cloaks that stood at the doors grabbed hold of the handles, pulling them inwards. In walked the leader of the City Watch, Janos Slynt. Slynt was a squat man, his face ugly and rather squarish. His features were all bloated and rather disproportionate, and the swagger in his stride made her fairly uncomfortable. Daenerys hated the way that his eyes often lingered on her breasts, the way he deepened his voice when talking to her. She had done her best to limit her interaction with the leader of the Gold Cloaks as much as possible within the past few months, delegating that he report to Ser Barristan, who would in turn relay whatever he wished to convey to the Queen. It seemed rather coincidental that he had far less to say to her since she had begun refusing to give him personal audiences, hearing next to nothing from her Captain of the guard. Now, however, he strode in with purpose, his usual saché abandoning his stride. He stopped halfway through the room, his shoulders square, his expression one of annoyance.

"Captain," Daenerys said, trying to smile down at the man, her face melding into a sort of grimace, "what can I help you with today." Slynt looked up at her, a tight smile plastered across his frog like face. He turned around and signalled to the gold cloaks who stood at the entrance to the hall. The doors were once again opened, and in stepped three more men of the city watch dragging three sacks behind them. Daenerys sat, amused, as the men labored to drag the bags across the stone floor, finally setting them down near their commander, all of them out of breath. Daenerys's amusement quickly vanished when Slynt knelt next to the sacks, and, with the help of a knife, cut open the bags, revealing their grizzly contents. The noble men and women of the court gasped, turning away in revulsion. Ser Alliser moved to Slynt, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "Get this out of here," her Queensguard growled, his posture threatening as he loomed over Janos.

"Ser Alliser, stand down," she called, beckoning for him to return to his place at the steps, "I would hear what he has to say." Janos looked features smushed together in what might have been a smug expression, staring pointedly at Ser Alliser, before his eyes found Daenerys. "Thank you my queen," he said, his nasally voice grating upon her ears. He gestured to the City Watchmen that now lay exposed in their body bags, "this is the fourth patrol we've lost in the past week. I-," he looked up at her, his expression rather bashful, "I thought I could solve this problem by myself, but whoever is targeting my men needs to be taken seriously as an offense against the crown." Daenerys rose from her seat and gracefully descended the steps, wanting to get a closer look at the corpses who lay before her. The armor of each of the men was cut through multiple times, suggesting that they had been mutilated as opposed to cleanly killed. This was an act of hate born aggression, not a simple cold blooded killing.

"Their armor," Daenerys began, meeting Janos's gaze, "this is the finest steel is it not?" Janos hesitantly nodded, his eyes squinting as his tiny brain tried to work out what she was getting at. "What kind of weapon could do this too fresh forged steel?", she asked, inspecting the way the metal curled up away from the cuts as if it had been cut through like paper. Janos didn't respond. "How many Valyrian steel swords exist in the Capital, Ser Barristan?", Dany asked, her eyes still fixed on the dead men in front of her. "None, your grace," her kingsguard answered. "And how many weapons could do this armour, Ser Barristan?", Dany said, motioning for the elderly knight to come closer. Slowly, he approached her, staring down at the macabre scene in front of him. "Only valyrian steel could make a cut that clean, your grace," he said, bowing his head as he retreated back to the stairs. Daenerys met Slynts eyes once more, her face composed and serious. "You have my attention Captain. What can I do to help you?"

* * *

Okay! So here you guys go, chapter 2 of this story just like I promised. I have a question though: do y'all prefer shorter chapters (1,000-2,000 words) that would come out much more frequently, or longer chapters (2,500-5,000 words) that would take me a lot longer to write? I was feeling very motivated, and even though this chapter is just a little over 2.5K words, it only took me roughly 36 hours to write (that is, of course, like 4 hours spread across a 36 hour span). Please let me know, and I hope you guys enjoy!


End file.
